


a boy so bright it burns your hands

by connections



Category: Free!
Genre: M/M, Rin has issues, language so descriptive i could’ve used a character tag for The Light, sex on the floor, they’re in australia. s3e3 and stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27029335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connections/pseuds/connections
Summary: Natsuya smells like chlorine (they all do) and alcohol (a slight hint, only some nights) and, just beneath that, like mint, sweet and cool and serene. It‘s only natural that it reminds Rin of Japan. It‘s only natural that he wants to tangle his fingers in curls the colour of milk chocolate just to see if they are as soft as they look.Rin meets him abroad. He doesn’t understand. There’s a hollow, hollow space somewhere inside him, and it hurts.
Relationships: Kirishima Natsuya/Matsuoka Rin
Comments: 7
Kudos: 23





	a boy so bright it burns your hands

Impulsitivity comes in more than one way. He can see that now, Rin thinks, see it in careless smiles and endless dinner nights and moonlight sparkling bright and alluring in chestnut brown eyes. He notices a pattern there, and the alcohol plays into it, too—(some people drink to feel less weak, or to bend reality, or to forget a quite-too-present past, they say)—but the guy that introduced himself to him as Kirishima Natsuya, the light of dusk painting his words a warm orange, doesn’t work like that. He’s strong, and he goes along with reality. His past is a way of success, stories of minor importance he still likes to tell (that’s, again, what his eyes say), so Rin listens, and drops him off at his hotel some nights. In others, they part ways before.

Natsuya smells like chlorine (they all do) and alcohol (a slight hint, only some nights) and, just beneath that, like mint, sweet and cool and serene. It‘s only natural that it reminds Rin of Japan. It‘s only natural that he wants to tangle his fingers in curls the colour of milk chocolate just to see if they are as soft as they look.

„I swim when I want, how I want“, Natsuya tells him later, gaze trailing off into the night sky, and that it isn‘t about winning medals. _For you_ , Rin thinks, and he doesn‘t understand, doesn‘t _quite_ understand, but he wants to and things are getting interesting. So when they race each other—just past midnight, the pool‘s water still without any silver whisper sleeping on its surface because the stars are blinded out by too-bright city lights (they don‘t need stars anyway, they have their own dreams, they can _imagine_ )—when they race each other, it‘s about whether or not Natsuya can stay in Rin‘s apartment. Rain falls and decides he can‘t. Natsuya decides he‘ll leave Australia altogether, and Rin finds himself disappointed by it. He hates the idea of losing to the other swimmer, but it wouldn‘t have bothered him at all having him stay over, for whatever reason.

He doesn‘t even need to choose.

Natsuya kisses him when they‘re standing next to each other on grey tiles, warmed by the day that has died hours ago, and Rin kisses back like he‘s drowning, like Natsuya‘s lips are the air he needs, delicious and merciful. He discovers a hint of mint here, again. Natsuya laughs, beautiful and _alive_ , and they‘re off to Rin‘s apartment anyway.

They stumble through the door together, hands on each other, lips parting for seconds at a time, mutually greedy because they chose to be.

„Ever done this before?“, Natsuya asks.

„Done what exactly?“

„Been with another guy.“

Rin freezes for a split second. He shakes his head. The smile on Natsuya‘s lips is gentle and paints his voice warm and quiet.

„All the better, then.“

They don‘t make it to the bedroom, but the apartment floor is carpeted and just good enough, and there‘s a window again—city lights stretching for miles, then into eternity, their reflections on the glass pane cold and alien. Rin catches a glimpse of Natsuya‘s hair from behind, of his own face; he’s surprised by the longing in his eyes, the relentless vigour of their kissing. Natsuya delivers a bite to his lower lip, and Rin‘s moan is rewarded with a soft chuckle.

„You‘re pretty, you know that?“

Rin forgets to protest or say anything at all when there are hands on his belt buckle, metal clicking on metal cold and dry and way too promising—he doesn‘t want to be eager, he decides, but the decision still isn‘t his own to make.

Natsuya takes his time, he notices, takes it slow so that Rin can back out if he wants to. He won‘t, though. Has planned on going through with it all from the beginning because that is his own kind of impulsivity. 

„Don‘t make this a race“, Natsuya says.

He smirks and slides his thumb over the head of Rin‘s cock and the sudden touch has Rin shivering. He‘s hard with a few strokes, burning with anticipation from the next—Natsuya leans forward and drinks the heat directly from his mouth, capturing every single sound he makes with an ever-palpable smile on his lips.

(He should be embarrassed, Rin thinks, but he isn‘t really. It‘s all too exciting, too new, to even feel fazing.)

Time doesn‘t slow down. It keeps passing, all steady and just a tad too fast, but the part of it that happens too fast is the part Rin wants the most. He doesn‘t want to think. Thinking feels dirty and _wrong_ and so very unlike Natsuya‘s mouth engulfing him, tongue swirling around in a way that‘s definitely not fair (Natsuya isn‘t, isn‘t someone to play fair, ever). When he takes Rin in completely, he‘s sure he‘s about to come apart just like that—it‘s too hot, feels all too good, but Natsuya catches up. He withdraws, and the air in Rin‘s apartment is cool.

Rin sighs, breath heavy.

„What was that for?“

„Just making sure to avoid having to consider refractory periods. You‘re not the only one in this room who‘s horny, see.“

Rin pouts.

Natsuya gets rid of his shirt, his trousers, the rustle of clothes is deafening in the silence they share (it‘s not uncomfortable, just unfamiliar, there‘s a difference). He frees his erection, and the city lights pool on his skin like water, dipping his neck and shoulders in faint blue—they paint shadows with strong, confident strokes, and Rin can’t help but stare.

Natsuya smirks, dangerous and rogue in the dim light. He retrieves a small bottle of lube and a condom from his bag that he’s dropped nearby.

Of course he’d have those things with him, Rin thinks.

„Would’ve been unfair otherwise, right?”

He pushes into himself with two fingers to start with, a shameless moan falling from his lips—he’s putting on a show, Rin can tell, of course he is, because Kirishima Natsuya is the kind of guy to do just that. It works, though. Rin stares, then stares some more, then gives in and strokes himself, dry and sloppily. The friction is too much to bear (not nearly enough). He needs more.

Natsuya’s eyes are closed, mouth wide open in bliss, as he adds a third digit.

„I’m going to ride you”, he says, and Rin can’t bite back a long moan despite all effort. It’s pointless anyway, and he likes the need in his voice, the way it’s husky with urgency.

(They do have time, all of it, but Rin finds himself wishing they needed to hurry.)

He slides his shirt over his shoulders, carelessly flings it across the room—his slacks, hanging low on his hips, are dragged down, fingertips grazing his skin light and fiery. Natsuya is all over him two seconds later, devouring his lips, and Rin tastes salt and greed. Skin on skin burns cold, there are teeth on his neck, sharp without mercy.

He cries out.

„You like that, yeah?”, Natsuya says smugly.

The pain feels good. It’s light running through his system, softening reality’s outlines, blurring those familiar, dull doubts just enough. _He deserves it._

„It’s a reward, not a punishment. I’m feeling generous today”, Natsuya adds.

Rin’s smile is crackled at the edges. It’s way too fitting—he has imagined Natsuya’s good intent to look just like this, just a little too close for comfort. He seems to understand, though. Rin knows he should be thankful.

He is thankful, later, when Natsuya lowers himself onto his length and it’s impossibly hot, white-hot and gleaming like a pool’s surface solidified by midday sunlight. He watches Natsuya rise and fall in sublime rhythm with his own chest, watches him fuck himself open on Rin’s cock, and it’s so obscene it might not even be real. 

( _Why would it be in the first place? The night was quiet, unnaturally so. Maybe he’s dreaming,_ Rin muses, _drowning._ )

Part of it is true either way—he _is_ drowning, dissipated and torn apart by warm, sun-hatched skin, unabashed moans, hot air and an eternal supply of stories of one summer and then another jammed between two bodies. He’s drowning in the purposeful, incomparable, one-of-a-kind thing that Natsuya is, and he remembers their race: easy, like home, making your way alongside an opponent the water treats just like it treats you. Rin wonders what it is like to create meaning with every stroke, every swing-forward-pull-back of your arm. It’s what Natsuya does, and it’s unbelievably bright (white without the heat, white that’s cool and deep like water), and Rin can’t help but wonder how he who doesn’t have a definite goal but a truckload full of inchoate dreams is the very epitome of purpose. He admires it. He’s so jealous he wants to steal it, rip it out of Natsuya’s hands. _I need this more desperately than you do._

„Say my name“, Natsuya demands. His voice breaks—Rin‘s does, too, when he has a taste (mint, there‘s mint and salt and he‘s hungry for it, he‘s starving). When he worships every syllable that dances on his lips, drips from his mouth, hits the ground. Vaporizes.

It‘s frantic, uncoordinated, messy. It lacks experience (because he does, Rin thinks, but it doesn‘t matter, which is odd because it _always_ matters, but it doesn‘t _now_ ) 

—and they‘re alone in a cool room, bodies hot like the air around them, and they‘re loud, contrast screeching harsh against the quiet apartment. It‘s not awkward in the least, though, they don‘t even hear it, they feel it. It‘s like suffocating (the air is hot and empty and filled with a symphony of pleasured noises, skin on skin, heavy breathing), like drowning in sensations and sensations and more of it.

It‘s not enough.

Rin doesn‘t know, still doesn‘t know how to persuade Natsuya to give him what he wants. He doesn‘t even know what it is that he wants—but he can feel, right; it feels like water and vibrant, strong strokes and eyes that have seen more of this world through a different filter and a smile that‘s as generous as it‘s sharp. It‘s a jigsaw with pieces that don‘t seem to add up, and there‘s an ocean or two that separate him from them anyway, so he takes the entire thing and throws it away. The pieces are made of glass. They shatter when they fall to the floor, and for a second, Rin wonders why Natsuya doesn‘t flinch, how his eyes are still closed—the next, he‘s gripping him by his shoulders, pulling him down. 

He enjoys the surprise, shock diluted so that it lingers, in Natsuya‘s eyes as he rolls both of them over, the brunette still burning and tight around him.

The shards scattered on the floor are cutting into his back now, Rin thinks. Natsuya doesn‘t notice. There‘s no blood.

„Are we getting cocky now?“, Natsuya murmurs then, voice quiet and husky, a question blurry at the edges because he has already surrendered. He tips his head back, vulnerable for the blink of an eye, and Rin‘s smile is full of teeth. He fists a hand in Natsuya‘s hair and pulls (it‘s soft, it really is, and damp with water), forcing a choked cry from his mouth that he swallows right after, pressing his lips to Natsuya‘s hard and relentless. _This_ is his kind of impulsivity, Rin sees now—it isn’t anger or jealousy or the ever-present nagging feeling of inferiority (of being a disappointment, the odd one out wherever he goes, the one who tries but doesn’t quite manage). It’s something else entirely. He doesn’t want to investigate further. It’s a part of him that doesn’t know mercy, and he definitely isn’t one to enjoy hurting people ( _who is, actually?_ ), but the sight of Natsuya beneath him, defeated and pushed to his limits further with every thrust Rin delivers, fascinates him.

It’s rather pleasant, being in control.

The fall comes eventually, when Natsuya exhales and clenches around him and Rin doesn’t stop—he admires the body shaking beneath him, skin burning and sensitive where he touches it. Natsuya is like water, giving way wherever his hands are, and it’s beautiful, and the realisation tastes good on his lips, like mint, when he’s finally climaxing.

It takes minutes until the cool air in Rin’s apartment gets to them.

“Wouldn’t have taken you for the adventurous type, really”, Natsuya claims. His voice is hoarse, the sticky white on his stomach glistens dully.

Rin is sitting beside him now. He looks away.

„Wouldn’t have taken myself for it as well“, he murmurs. „I told you I’m new to this.”

“That’s why you couldn’t leave your numerous complexes out of it. Man, get ahold of yourself.“

The second half is spoken with a half-smile hanging from Natsuya‘s lips. It’s tired, this time, still generous (more so than before), but it has lost its ferocity.

Rin hates that it confuses him.

„Don’t pout at me, will you? I liked it. Most guys are holding back too much anyway.“

The silence is present like it never was, eating Rin up from the inside.

Natsuya pauses. His smile widens, then.

„Stop doubting yourself. Others don’t, so there’s no reason to”, he says. „You‘ll let me stay overnight, right? I‘m leaving early tomorrow, promise.“

There‘s no answer again, so Natsuya picks himself up and goes find the bathroom. Rin hears water running soon after, and it reminds him of the rain earlier that has started to fall again outside. Rain doesn’t care, of course. It doesn’t write out messages for him or tell him who he is, too, so he tears his eyes away from the window.

He’ll have to figure it out himself, he realizes.

The room is cold and empty. The scent of sweat and water and mint lingers.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! comments make me cry tears of joy in german class!
> 
> this fic has been waiting in my drafts since july, when i watched s3e3 on a thursday night and decided that This Ship Has A Vibe and i should write some smut. i finished it about two weeks later on a camping trip with a bunch of friends, half-drunk from the first four shots of vodka i‘ve ever had in my life, in a pages doc on my phone. well. how about you ignore the fact that the rin i wrote here is really just dealing with my own issues. have a great day
> 
> @ ginoskanshikan on twitter!


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